#source: the unwelcome visitor

[tayfabe75]

"One of the things you learn if somebody close to you has depression that comes on endogenously is not to take it personally. It's difficult, because your sense of self is fundamentally instilled in you from your interpersonal relationships with the people closest to you, so when it feels like there's a disconnect it can be hard to deal with it. As a young person looking up, it's sometimes difficult to be strong for your parents, but my experience of Mum's depression didn't install any trauma in me. I learned a lot of empathy, which has made it an important life lesson for me. I think we're very lucky, because we have a liberal, understanding family unit and there's no shame around mental illness among us. It's where my parents come from culturally: there was never any shame around sexuality or self-expression, and Mum's depression was never seen as being awkward or an elephant in the room. It was something we could deal with because we had an open dialogue as a family. Patience is a virtue when it comes to dealing with people with mental health issues because they're not experiencing time at the same rate you are. There's often a desire to get frustrated or maybe think somebody is indulging in what they're doing, but my mum's mental health taught me and Louis that there is no time frame to happiness. The important thing is to just be there for them. You can't fix them and you can't save them, but you can maintain when they're in that situation."

January 1, 2024: Dense Welch, Matty's mother, posts an excerpt that he wrote for her book, 'The Unwelcome Visitor', stating that, "Of all the wonderful things Matthew has written this means the most." (source)

[slytherinslut0]

MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me

Chapter Eleven-Info: You and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.

(This will essentially be a toxic book where we are Theos fucktoy. No love here, very minimal fluff.)

Tags: 18+, Sub!Reader, Dom!Mattheo, Dirty Talk, Toxic Behaviour, Jealousy, Possessive Behaviours, Manipulation, Sexual Aggression, Angst, Emotional Manipulation, Slytherin!Boys, Weaponizing!EnzoBerkshire.

****FIND THE REST OF THE CHAPTERS HERE.

Friday morning arrived, but you found yourself ensnared by an unwelcome visitor: illness. Your usual vibrant energy was replaced by a lethargic heaviness, your throat scratchy, and your head pounding with each heartbeat. Emily's concerned eyes followed your every move at the breakfast table, her worried whispers barely audible above the hum of the Great Hall.

Thursday had been a disaster. Despite the guild meeting's anticipation, you couldn't summon an ounce of excitement. The prospect of seeing Tom, once a source of thrill and exciting opportunities, now felt like a daunting challenge. As you walked past him, you avoided his gaze, keeping your eyes fixed on the floor and not daring to converse with him outside of a few small shared words during the meeting. Ignoring him was a desperate attempt to shield yourself from the whirlwind of conflicting emotions that threatened to consume you.

Every fiber of your being wanted to be excited, but the illness, accompanied by the haunting words from Mattheo, had drained you of joy and left only a hollow emptiness. The guild meeting, once a highlight of your week, felt like a distant obligation. Your world had shifted, leaving you adrift in a sea of uncertainty and discomfort, the very essence of your existence shaken by the turmoil within.

"Are you okay?" Emily's voice sliced through the quiet, laced with concern. "You look like you're about to faint."

"I'm just not feeling well," you replied, your voice barely audible above the buzz of the Great Hall.

The words that left your lips were somewhat true, but they were a mask over your real problems. A torrent of conflicting emotions churned within you, the chaos of Mattheo's unpredictable behavior warring with the complexities of your situation with Tom. Each thought pulled you in a different direction, leaving you in a state of internal turmoil that threatened to consume you whole. Despite your efforts to hide it, the storm inside your mind was evident in your eyes, a silent plea for understanding that you were desperate to keep hidden.

Emily's concerned expression softened into one of understanding, her eyes reflecting the depth of her friendship with you. She didn't press further, sensing the boundaries you had set. Instead, she offered you a gentle, reassuring smile.

"You've been working so hard," she said, softly. "You should cancel your tutoring tonight. You need a bloody night off--you're working yourself sick."

Internally, your turmoil grew. If only Emily knew the real reason behind your illness, the tangled web of secrets and emotions that threatened to suffocate you. The rule-breaking involvement with Mattheo weighed heavily on your conscience, a constant reminder of the dangerous path you were treading, one that was bound to explode at some point, one that was certain to bring your entire world crashing down with it when it did.

Yet, you couldn't bring yourself to confide in Emily, to burden her with the knowledge of your own reckless choices. The fear of judgment and the complexities of your feelings kept you silent, trapped in a cycle of self-imposed secrecy.

"I appreciate your concern, Emily," you replied, forcing a weak smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "I honestly think I might just do that...I'm going to tell him now."

Emily's face fell, her eyes widening with a mix of worry and disbelief. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but the words died on her lips. Before she could voice her concerns or attempt to hold you back, you were already rising from your seat, your determination etched on your face like a battle flag. With every step toward the Slytherin table, your gaze bored into Mattheo's disheveled appearance like a laser, an unspoken challenge burning in your eyes.

Your feet carried you forward with purpose, each step echoing your heartbeat which relentlessly thundered in your ears, drowning out the ambient sounds of the bustling Great Hall. The world around you blurred, the faces of your fellow students becoming mere smudges of colour as you zeroed in on Mattheo. A surge of adrenaline coursed through your veins, urging you forward even as doubt gnawed at the edges of your mind.

As you drew closer, you realized the gravity of your decision, the precariousness of the situation you were about to confront, but in that moment, you knew you were already in too deep, you knew that there was no turning back.

"Riddle."

You uttered, your voice slicing through the air like a dagger. However, it was as if your words were swallowed by an invisible void; no one at the table even remotely acknowledging your presence.

"Riddle."

You repeated, your tone sharper this time. This caught Draco Malfoy's attention, his sharp, silver eyes locking onto yours with predatory amusement. His smirk, a cruel curve etched on his lips, seemed to mock your efforts. You shot him an eye roll, dismissing his silent taunts, but it only fueled his amusement, his head tilting slightly in enjoyment. Frustration simmered beneath your skin, a restless energy seeking an outlet. Exasperation surged through you, a tempest of emotions threatening to burst from within.

"Mattheo!"

You finally exclaimed, the name carrying the weight of your frustration and determination. The word hung in the air like a thunderclap, freezing everyone at the Slytherin table in their tracks. The effect was immediate and profound. It was as if you had tossed a live wire onto the table, sending shockwaves through the once-buzzing atmosphere.

A sudden, eerie silence descended upon the Slytherin table. The lively chatter ceased abruptly, and every single pair of eyes turned toward you with an intensity that bordered on disbelief. Berkshire, Zabini, Nott, Black, Malfoy, and Riddle, as well as a few unfamiliar faces, locked their gazes onto yours, each expression mirroring a different shade of astonishment--ranging in various raised eyebrows to widened, shocked eyes.

Before you had a chance to compose yourself, Berkshire, seated directly in front of you, sported a wide, contemptuous grin, his eyes gleaming with disdain.

"Well, well, look who's decided to grace us with her presence," Enzo sneered, his tone dripping with condescension. "Did you finally tire of your precious textbooks, sweetheart? Or are you just here to make a fool of yourself?"

Mattheo's eyes widened in mild astonishment, his usual mask of indifference momentarily slipping as he watched the scene unfold. His lips twitched, almost forming a smirk, but he remained silent, keenly observing the confrontation.

You straightened your back, your gaze unwavering as you met Enzo's sneer head-on. "I'm not here to entertain you, Enzo," you replied, your voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "But if you have nothing else to do besides insult people, maybe you should consider finding a hobby that doesn't involve being an insufferable prat."

The table fell into a stunned silence, the previous atmosphere of mockery dissipating like smoke in the wind. Enzo's sneer faltered, his expression contorting into a mixture of surprise and indignation.

Zabini raised an eyebrow in mild amusement. "Looks like this raven has some fuckin' claws...watch out boys..."

Nott stifled a laugh behind his hand, clearly entertained by the unexpected turn of events. Black shot you an approving nod, wordlessly acknowledging your verbal victory, and even Malfoy, though still aloof, seemed intrigued by your bold response.

Mattheo's eyes, however, bore into yours with an unreadable intensity, a hint of something flickering beneath the surface--mixture of surprise, pride, and a touch of something more complicated. Enzo's face flushed with anger, his eyes narrowing into slits as he prepared a retort. However, before he could unleash his reply, Mattheo's voice sliced through the tension like a dagger.

"What do you want, Raven?" His tone was calm, collected, almost entirely unfazed.

Inhaling deeply, you mustered your courage and looked directly into Mattheo's eyes. "I won't be able to make it for potions tonight," you stated firmly, your voice unwavering despite the charged atmosphere. "Feeling a bit under the weather."

Mattheo's lips curled into a subtle smirk, a glint of mischief in his eyes. "Under the weather, huh?" he said, his tone laced with feigned concern. "Such a shame. I suppose I'll have to find another way to occupy my evening."

There was a playful challenge in his words, hinting at an unspoken understanding between the two of you. Around the table, the boys exchanged raised eyebrow glances, their expressions laced with sadistic curiosity. Their eyes flicked between you and Mattheo, absorbing the interaction with keen interest, as if trying to unravel the depth of the connection between the two of you. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken tension, each of them leaning in slightly, eager to catch any nuances in your conversation, their curiosity piqued by the intriguing dynamic at play.

"I suppose you will," you said, your voice laced with venom. "Enjoy your evening, Riddle."

Just as you attempted to leave, a cold, harsh grip closed around your wrist, making you gasp in surprise. Glancing down, you found Berkshire's twisted face leering up at you, a sadistic smirk playing on his lips.

"If you ever need help getting that stick out of your uptight ass, I'd consider lending a hand," his eyes glinted with malicious intent as he taunted, "of course, for the right price...I'm not as generous as Mattheo."

Your eyes narrowed, fury burning in your veins like wildfire. "Mattheo, generous?" you scoffed, disbelief lacing your words. "That's the last word I'd associate him with."

Berkshire's lips twisted into a cruel smile, his eyes glinting with sadistic satisfaction. "Oh, trust me, little bird," he sneered, leaning in closer, "generosity might not be his best feature--but sometimes, when you're dealing with snakes, it's better to know which one bites less."

His grip tightened briefly before he released you, leaving you seething with anger and frustration. Mattheo's jaw clenched visibly, his fingers curling into fists at Berkshire's audacious words. His eyes narrowed, a storm of anger brewing beneath the surface, but he maintained his composure.

"Watch your tongue, Berkshire." With a chilling calmness, he spoke, his voice laced with a warning tone. "And what did I tell you about fucking touching her?"

His words hung heavy in the air, a subtle threat underlying the calm facade. The atmosphere grew tenser, and even Berkshire seemed to falter slightly under the weight of Mattheo's gaze. The unspoken tension between the two boys crackled, leaving an electric charge in the room.

But then, Berkshire's lips curled into a sinister smile, as if he'd just come to some sudden realization, his eyes glinting with malicious amusement.

"My apologies, Riddle," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm, glancing around at all of the other boys at the table. "I didn't realize she was off-limits...but, I have to say, it's quite intriguing, isn't it? The way you guard her so fiercely. Makes one wonder just how close you two really are."

Your irritation swelled, the annoyance becoming almost tangible. How had you thought Mattheo's snark was bad? This guy was in an entire fucking league of his own.

"What truly intrigues me is how someone as insufferable as you manages to function on a daily basis," you hissed, each word dripping with venom, spat out through gritted teeth. "I didn't think it was possible to be more arrogant than Mattheo, but I suppose congratulations are in order. At least you win at something, unlike Quiddit-"

Before you could finish your sentence, Berkshire erupted from his seat, his face contorted with rage, poised to confront you, stalling your lungs in your chest. The rest of the boys swiftly intervened, seizing him and forcefully yanking him back down into his seat, averting a potential escalation of yet another confrontation, each of them exchanging uneasy glances.

Mattheo's demeanor was a storm of barely restrained fury, his eyes dark and blazing with intensity. Despite his efforts to remain composed, the anger seeping from him was palpable, casting a shadow over the entire table.

You shot a scathing look at Berkshire, his gaze avoiding yours as he muttered bitter words under his breath, unwilling to engage in anymore direct confrontation.

Despite the tension, your voice dripped with disdain as you whispered, "bloody pathetic."

The words hung in the air, heavy with disgust, lingering like a ghostly mist--and before anyone had a chance to say anything else, you turned on your heel and left the hall. Each step echoed the frustration and anger that churned within you, the atmosphere thick with the lingering tension of the encounter. As you stormed down the corridor, your footsteps reverberating off the stone walls, you couldn't shake off the seething anger that clung to you like a second skin.

The distant echoes of the Great Hall's chaos faded into the background as you retreated into the quiet corridor, seeking solace from the storm you had unleashed. Just as you began to regain a semblance of composure, Mattheo's voice cut through the air like a sharp blade, his frustration palpable in the way he growled your name. You turned to face him, meeting his intense gaze, where anger and concern danced in his eyes like a tempest.

"The hell was that, Raven? What were you fucking thinking?" he demanded, his footsteps closing in with purposeful strides. His voice, though edged with annoyance, held an undercurrent of worry. "Starting a fight with Berkshire in the middle of the Great Hall? Are you trying to draw unnecessary attention to us?"

"You think I fucking started that?" Your eyes flashed with defiance, refusing to back down despite the intensity of Mattheo's gaze.

"I won't stand there and let him disrespect me, Mattheo," you retorted, your voice cutting through the silence with sharp precision. The weight of his annoyance only fueled your determination. "I'm already your doormat, I won't be his too."

There was a challenging edge to your words, a fire that refused to be extinguished, even in the face of Mattheo's frustration. It was a declaration of your unwillingness to be treated as less than you were worth, a resolve that echoed in the defiant set of your shoulders and the unwavering determination in your eyes. Mattheo's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing with a menacing intensity. He closed the distance between you in a few more swift strides, his presence overwhelming.

"You're not my doormat, Raven," he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "But if you keep pushing...if you keep running your mouth like that, you might just find out what it feels like to be truly under someone's heel...I can't keep defending you without drawing suspicion."

"Oh, look at you...big tough guy, huh?" Your defiance blazed in your eyes, undeterred by Mattheo's threats. You stepped forward, kinking your neck back to catch his eyes. "What are you going to do about it, hm? Get out the belt again? We both know I can handle more than that, Riddle..."

"You're playing with fire, princess..." Mattheo warned, his tone dripping with dark amusement as it dropped to a low whisper. "And we both know how that usually ends, don't we?"

His smirk, etched with wicked allure, deepened into a predatory grin. His eyes, like shards of obsidian, glittered with a potent mixture of dominance and danger. Leaning in, he invaded your personal space, his head tilting slightly as his gaze flickered to your lips, an unspoken challenge lingering in the air. Your pulse quickened, each beat echoing the intensity of the moment. Despite the adrenaline surging through your veins, you met his eyes with unwavering courage, a silent declaration that you would not be easily swayed by his aura of power and intrigue.

"Seems like that's all I do these days," you whispered back, allowing your defiance to blow away with the wind as you remembered why you even ventured to his table in the first place. "I can't do this anymore, Mattheo...I can't keep doing this...whatever the fuck this even is in the first place..."

Mattheo's eyes softened, his usual facade cracking for a moment as he reached out, his thumb tracing a gentle line along your jaw.

"Raven," he murmured, his voice filled with a complexity of emotions, "we're in too deep now...you and I both know there's no turning back..."

The dim light of the corridor cast deep shadows across Mattheo's features, highlighting the sharp angles of his face. His eyes, normally ablaze with confidence, were now clouded with uncertainty, a storm of conflicting emotions. His dark hair fell messily over his forehead, adding to the enigmatic aura that surrounded him. As he leaned in, the scent of his cologne wrapped around you, intoxicating and alluring.

"No, Mattheo..." you breathed, turning your head to avoid his lips. "You said no strings but there seems to be a lot of fucking strings...it’s all too much…”

Your inner turmoil churned like a tempest within, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions tearing at the very core of your existence. There was an ache nestled deep in your chest, a painful acknowledgment that you were bound to Mattheo in ways that defied logic and reason. The desire for something genuine, something profound and real, clashed violently with the brutal truth that it could never be.

It was a cruel paradox: Mattheo's possessiveness, his insistence on claiming you, even in the shadowy realms of secrecy, left you feeling both wanted and yet painfully isolated. The longing for an authentic connection battled relentlessly with the reality that this clandestine affair could never transform into something meaningful. You found yourself ensnared in a complex web, a moth irresistibly drawn to a flame, unable to resist its allure despite the inevitable burn.

His games and possessive gestures were merely agonizing reminders of the insurmountable boundaries. Yet, the magnetic pull of his presence, the way he ignited a fire within you, kept you entangled in this perilous dance. Your feelings for him were perplexing, a tumultuous mix of intense desire and seething resentment. He made you experience emotions you had never felt before, confusing you with the sheer intensity of your reactions.

You hated him, despised the way he treated you, yet he had an inexplicable power over you, making you feel both alive and trapped simultaneously. The dichotomy between the pleasure he brought and the pain he inflicted left you utterly confounded, adrift in a sea of emotions, desperately searching for an anchor that seemed forever out of reach.

Mattheo's eyes softened even further as he blinked, catching the flicker of turmoil in your gaze. He stepped back, the intensity of the moment breaking as he ran a hand through his tousled hair, a gesture of frustration and resignation.

"You're just not feeling well..." he said, his voice void of emotion, as though your turmoil was inconsequential, as though your current health state somehow made any fucking difference. "Get some rest, Raven. See you Wednesday."

His words hung in the air like a bitter aftertaste, a reminder of the futility of your situation. With a final, detached glance, he turned away and spun down the dimly lit hall, his figure gradually fading into the shadows. The weight of his indifference settled on your shoulders, a heavy burden that mirrored the ache in your heart. As he disappeared from view, you stood there, alone in the corridor, feeling both abandoned and entangled, like a moth caught in a web of its own making.

—————-

Chapter twelve->

[greenwitchcrafts]

Mugwort

Artemisia Vulgaris

Known as: Artemis herb, artemisia, artemisia herb, cingulum sancti johannis, felon herb, muggons, naughty man, old man, old uncle Henry, sailor's tobacco & St.John plant

Related plants: A member of the daisy family Asteraceae that consists of over 32,000 known species of flowering plants in over 1,900 genera within it such as chamomile, coneflowers, dahlia, daisy, dandelion, goldenrod, lettuce, marigold & sunflower

Parts used: Leaves & flowers

Habitat & cultivation: Common mugwort is native to Europe and Eastern Asia. Mugwort was brought into North America as early as the 1600’s for medicinal purposes. It spread throughout the Northeastern U.S. as a contaminant on ships and nurseries.

Plant type: Perennial

Region: 3-8

Harvest: The flowering tops of mugwort should be collected once they bloom or right before the blooms open. The leaves of mugwort plants should be collected before the plant flowers. Older leaves & flowers are significantly more bitter

Planting tips: Mugwort seeds can benefit from a special 1 to 2 week treatment called cold moist stratification prior to planting them & need cold weather to break down germination inhibitors. The seeds require light to germinate, so be careful not to cover them when planting. Mugwort does not like to be overwatered & is very drought tolerant. It is also an invasive weed & best kept in a container.

Medicinal information: Historically mugwort has been used in traditional systems of medicine in different parts of the world. Today, mugwort taken orally is promoted for digestive problems, irregular menstruation, and high blood pressure. It is also promoted as a sedative, laxative, anti-inflammatory & liver tonic. Mugwort lotion applied topically can aid in itching caused by hypertrophic scars & When being smoked, it exhibits mild intoxicating properties & strong relaxing properties.

Cautions: Mugwort should not be taken by pregnant people because it may start menstruation and cause the uterus to contract. Little is known about whether it’s safe to use mugwort while chestfeeding. Mugwort might cause an allergic reaction in people with pollen sensitivities

Magickal Properties

Gender: Feminine

Planet: Venus & Neptune

Element: Earth

Deities: Aida Wedo, Artemis, Diana, Isis, Lakshimi & St.John

Magickal uses:

•Place under your pillow to bringing peaceful sleep, prophetic dreams & aid in astral travel

• Add to incense for cleansing and clearing energy

• Place around scrying tools to increase their energy

• Add to herbal smoke blends to stimulate lucid dreaming, astral travel & visualization

• Make an infusion of mugwort to wash magic mirrors and crystal balls to aid in physic workings

• Burn with Sandalwood or wormwood for scrying rituals

• Carry in a satchets for protection and increasing lust, fertility & preventing back pain

• Throw mugwort in a fire during Midsummer for protection for the following year

• Keep under your doorstep to keep annoying visitors away

• Use in tea before bed to encourage lucid dreaming

• Hang mugwort over or on a door to keep unwelcome energies from passing through

• During a storm or when your life feels threatened by impending dangers, toss into your hearth fire or cauldron to keep you safe

•Wash your hands with a mugwort infusion to increase energy flow before tarot or pendulum readings

Sources:

Farmersalmanac.com

The Herbal Alchemist Handbook by Karen Harrison

The Book of Flower Spells by Cheralyn Darcey

Llewellyn's Complete Book of Correspondences by Sandra Kines

A Witch's Book of Correspondences by Viktorija Briggs

The Encyclopedia of Natural Magic by John Michael Greer

Wild Witchcraft by Rebecca Beyer

Plant Witchery by Juliet Diaz

A Compendium of Herbal Magick by Paul Beyerl

Wikipedia

[jjhoa]

The Antiques 

The story takes place in a land of abandoned antiques, where old tools and objects have come to life in order to keep its beauty intact. These antiques seek, polish and fix damaged parts that have been broken away, utilizing the debris to create ways of protection from the deadly dust.

🕰️ The Commander, Delano Vaillant

Oldest but the fiercest amongst the antiques, the Commander is in charge of guarding the town against any unwelcome visitors. Despite his high stature, he often takes matters into his hand, fighting gallantly like no other. With an excellent sense of timing, and knowing the exact moment to strike, yield, and hold, he is respected by everyone; although seen as sharp and intimidating, some even say he has a kind heart.

🍵 The Gravekeeper, Mariam Bellerose

The gravekeeper collects, stores, and protects the ashes of the dead; she puts them in a special tea casket, then places the casket in the "Graveyard", a room filled with rows of cupboards. Always veiled with a mysterious aura, it's often difficult to tell the meaning behind her soft, solemn smile. It's been a while since she's laughed, some antiques say. "Her husband passed a couple of years ago, and she's been mourning him ever since."

🕯️ The Lamplighter, Lucian Aubert

The young lamplighter brightens the dusty sky with his vibrant optimism and undying cheerfulness. He's a ray of light that warms the cold air, quite literally so. With his power to generate small flames, the lamplighter takes charge of illuminating the streets , leaving the light to flicker until dawn. When the dust covers the sun, the main source of light will always be the lamps.

[neontokyoo]

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Gn!reader Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort Summary: After being hit with a wave of guilt for using forbidden magic, Sebastian came to help comfort you. Warnings: possible mentions of death and/or violence, use of forbidden magic, MAJOR HOGWARTS LEGACY SPOILERS!!

“I want to learn the curse, and I think it’s best if I cast it on you.”

“Very well, if that’s what you want. To perform the spell, raise your wand, point it at me and declare, ‘Crucio!’ Hold on as long as you can.”

In the dimly lit dorm room, shadows danced across the walls as your thoughts echoed in the silence. The air felt heavy with the weight of regret, and your mind replayed the haunting echoes of the Unforgivable curses that had become an unwelcome companion. The memories of that fateful use of the curses lingered, a bitter taste on your conscience.

Lost in contemplation, you gripped your wand tightly, the polished wood cool against your clammy palms. With a sudden surge of frustration, you flung it against the wall, the clash resonating through the room. The internal struggle between the desire for power and the realization of its consequences raged within you.

Amidst the internal turmoil, a knock on the door startled you. Composing yourself, you straightened your robes before opening it, expecting anyone but the unexpected visitor. To your surprise, Sebastian stood on the other side, a mix of concern and curiosity etched on his features.

"What do you want, Sallow?" you sighed, attempting to mask the turmoil beneath a forced smile.

Sebastian, undeterred by your facade, teased, "Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed." The jest faded as he sensed your genuine distress. "Is everything alright? Ominis and I were concerned when you never showed up today."

You brushed off the worry with a lie, but Sebastian's perceptive gaze saw through it. "You're sure?" he pressed, genuine concern in his eyes. "You can tell me anything, right?"

"Yeah, I know," you nodded, attempting to divert the conversation.

Sebastian, however, wasn't easily swayed. "So tell me, what's on your mind?"

"I'm just… thinking," you confessed, the weight of guilt evident in your voice. "What if Ominis was right about using the Unforgivable Curses? What if we truly had gone too far?"

Sebastian cut through your thoughts, recognizing the source of your turmoil. "The guilt of using the dark arts," he said, his voice empathetic.

“Unforgivable curses won’t work unless you really mean them. I had to want to cause pain. And for that, I shall never forgive myself.” Ominis’ words hauntingly echoed through your mind.

You nodded.

"If you didn't want to know how to use them, you could have told me," he pointed out. "I wouldn't have shown you how to—"

"I know, Sebastian," you interrupted, reassuring him. "But I did want to know. I didn't want to tell you no."

Sebastian sighed, a complex mix of understanding and regret reflected in his eyes. "I never wanted this burden for you, especially not out of love. The dark arts are a slippery slope, and the consequences are heavy. But we can't change the past. What matters now is how we deal with it together."

He entered the room, closing the door behind him. "Let's figure this out, face the consequences, and make amends where we can. We're in this together, no matter what."

As you both settled down to talk, the room echoed with the weight of your choices, but a shared commitment to navigate the challenges ahead cast a glimmer of hope amid the shadows.

[connor-sent-by-cyberlife]

The Man Next Door - Part 2

Hank hates the day shift. Working at night leaves him with an empty day ahead. So even if he can't find sleep, there is always something he can distract himself with. When he can't find rest at night though - while everything is quiet and the world is asleep - his mind invites the darkness to come in and all the grim thoughts turn into heavy weights on his heart and soul. Alcohol helps, but only if he drinks enough – which he does, often. He doesn't remember when sitting in the dark and getting drunk at his kitchen table has become sort of a routine. It has been a while. He looks around and wonders if he has chosen this dreary place to live as some kind of punishment, as his own personal hell. It is messy and smells like a dirty old pub. Everything in here screams 'neglect' while loneliness has made itself at home like an unwelcomed visitor who doesn't want to leave. Yeah, no fucking doubt – this shitty apartment feels appropriate for Hank, like something he deserves for failing to protect his son. He takes another sip from the bottle he holds so tight as if he is afraid it could just vanish if he didn't. His eyes fall closed and he groans loudly. He just wants some sleep without any nightmares.

Sudden light hits his face and stops him from sinking into blessed thoughtlessness. He squints, frustrated, before he opens his eyelids reluctantly. Some movement in the neighbor's room – the source of the unexpected brightness - catches his attention. And even though his mind is blurred by the alcohol's intoxication it only takes him a few seconds to understand what is happening. As soon as he does, he can't look away anymore, as if the neighbor's window has turned into a magnet his eyes can't resist.

Part 1 | Part 2 |

(click for better quality)

³ᵈ ᵐᵒᵈᵉˡ ᵖᵒʳᵗ ᵇʸ ᵐᵉᵗᵒʳᶤᵃ ᵒᶰ ᵗʷᶤᵗᵗᵉʳ

[polutrope]

Now it's your turn, smut sis! 😁 Don't know if you've answered these already, but here they go: for the smut asks, 1, 6, 18, 19, and 24 for Maemags, please?

Thank you for the ask! From this list (feel free to send more, I left in the tags which I've answered).

Share your philosophy of smut. Why do you write it, and what does it mean to you?

Sexual arousal is a feeling just like sadness, anger, amusement, and all those other things writing can help us to feel and process. It happens that one of the things I seem to enjoy and be good at helping people feel is horny. So be it. (That being said I go through spells of wanting nothing to do with it and then write Genfic about kids or something.)

I genuinely believe putting characters in a state of sexual arousal is an amazing way to explore who they are and their dynamics with other characters. The previous point notwithstanding, smut does not have to be hot. No smut will be hot to every reader. But it may help a reader think about the source work, themself, or just the human condition, in a new way.

How do you think your smut writing has evolved?

Answered here. Will add that my adventurousness has definitely evolved and continues to evolve (it seems) with every piece. I am no longer shocked by anything that bubbles up in my mind.

What’s the weirdest thing you have researched for the sake of a smut fic? Can be within the scope of Tolkien canon or on a topic completely outside it.

Answered here. I know there are more but annoyingly cannot think of them.

Share a smut rec for Maedhros/Maglor

Two recent contributions to the tag which I think you have already read:

Dark Flavour: and some of us returned by @i-am-a-lonely-visitor. This was initially posted on Anon because it's a silmkinkmeme fill and I was not going to read it because of the tags but I took a peek and was immediately drawn in by the gothic kidnap fam framing and the gorgeous prose. Probably not a fic for everyone, but if you feel up to giving the tags a chance, it's all handled with dark and sensitive beauty imho.

Funny Flavour: Mapmaking by @meadowlarkx. Lark excels at wit and sex and this was both hilarious and hot and tender. So much teasing.

I have to add one that is not fully smutty (though it still has scenes that titillated me), Such a Marriage by DifferentSong. This is a silmkinkmeme fill the author just posted to AO3. I hope they get more encouragement to continue because it is such a beautiful fic and a nuanced treatment of the characters and relationship.

Share a favorite passage from one of your smut fics.

Already shared two but happy to provide! Luthien tops Daeron in my bisexual fantasy in Of Changing and of Shifting Shape below the cut.

“How is this?” She passes the tip of her finger into him and he gasps again. It slides in so easily, and he feels himself loosen around her. “Good.” He swallows and thinks, ‘Better than he was,’ because whatever Lúthien has managed to produce with her own body feels exquisitely warm and viscous, without any of the discomfort that usually accompanies this act. Another finger slides inside him and she begins to pulse with her hand. “And did he take you from behind? Or did you face him, staring into each other’s eyes as you chased ecstasy?” As she speaks, her fingertips find the spot that spatters his vision with stars – only, when she does it, there is heat radiating from her, setting his nerves alight. Daeron has to pant through his reply. “I was - ah! - facing him. He hooked his strong arms under my knees and –” suddenly, unwelcomely, Lúthien pulls her fingers from him and does as he has just described. Daeron lifts his neck to glance down. She has hiked her dress up to her thighs and his eyes widen at what he sees. In place of her beautiful, soft folds she has a thick, straight shaft, turgid and wet. It is not something Daeron ever imagined wanting but when he sees her kneeling over him like this – her round, plump breasts hanging like swollen dew drops as she brings herself forward, her nipples dark and pert, and beneath that the most perfectly-shaped cock he has ever seen, its head blushing a deep red and gleaming – seeing her like that he is making fists around the tangle of blankets beneath him to avoid spilling over his stomach already, simply imagining her inside him, filling him completely.

[synxis]

​𝐀 𝐒𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐋   box full of seeds, tucked away in storage. That's all he wanted. A task so simple it had no right to take more than a few minutes of his precious time, and yet, here he was, on hour four of scrolling through inventory lists. Ivo had many locations, dashed around Empire territory, with even more supplies, making this even more irritating. Tracking down which storage unit held his coveted box had run into a snag when the logs had come up empty. Apparently, somewhat recently, this specific unit had previously been gutted and its contents moved elsewhere. Where? Who knows. The log was a dead end, utterly unhelpful.

Luckily for Finitevus, Eggman was the paranoid sort, and the crate had been tagged. All he needed to do was some leg work.

— ✦ —

The tracker had led him to an unassuming building, featureless and largely tucked away, any potential visitors unwelcome. He peeks through a small window, opening a warp ring to let himself inside. Inside was just as unremarkable. Finitevus of all people would know by now — you've seen one Eggman Empire storage facility,  you've seen them all. Bleak, grey walls, rows of featureless cargo with the red logo branding them.

Except, the deeper he explores, the more he thought it strange, uncanny.  Eggman tech was present, but it was all modified in some way. Finitevus stills his exploring, eyes examining a box with another logo he did not recognize, yet could see the red of the Empire peeking out from underneath.  Metal fingers faintly trace the pattern with idle fascination.  Five stars and... toothpaste?

The distant sounds of music makes the echidna perk,  glancing down the hall to its source.

Ah. He wasn't alone.

@stillgrows ​

[rentfreeinmyskull]

thinking about Leiko and his brief stint at the Kalikori village after crash-landing on Tython. He was there for two weeks, hiding after breaking through his brainwashing long enough to spare Rin and run away. He was found by the Jedi soon after but first aaaaa a little blurb because farmer Leiko was giving me brain-rot.

Thump! Thump!

The shovel dipped into the dirt, revealing rich dark brown saturated by curling worms. Leiko grunted, then tossed the dirt into the growing pile next to their feet and kept digging. Sweat slid down their back, the only relief under the mid-afternoon Tython sun.

Thump! Thump!

When the hole was deep enough, Leiko reached into their pouch and pulled out a handful of sapir seeds. They were bright blue and tinged with pink.

They hit the dirt with barely a sound. Wiping sweat from their brow, Leiko crouched down and slowly pushed the pile of dirt back over, gently brushing a lost worm off their hand.

They were about to start digging another hole, when they heard footsteps behind them, accompanied by a steady thump-thump.

The Matriach was coming up the hill, dressed in a soft green dress and purple shawl, her wrinkled hands curved around the handle of her cane. She was smiling vaguely in Leiko’s direction, her pale eyes unseeing. Leiko still hadn’t figured out how she always knew how to find them - perhaps it was some gift only the Matriach possessed. Or they just weren’t as stealthy as they thought they were.

‘Good afternoon, Ufup,’ she said, stopping just beside them. ‘How goes the planting?’

‘I’ve planted 20 seeds, Matriach,’ Leiko said, casting their eyes to the ground. ‘As you ordered.’

The Matriach’s lekku twitched as she smiled, sympathetic. ‘You seem to have mistaken me. It wasn’t an order. I’ve found planting seeds to be calming after all these years.’ She knelt down and pressed her hand into the dirt. ‘The connection to the dirt, to the planet. In the simple act of planting sapir seeds, you have assisted in forming new life.’

Leiko swallowed, their hands tensing around their shovel.

The Matriach stood back up and placed a hand on Leiko’s shoulder. ‘Not to mention, the tea made from the seeds is delicious. So I ask again, visitor, how goes the planting?’

Leiko took their time answering. In the two days they had known the Matriach, they had not seen any streak of cruelty or judgment, but still the urge to apologize came.

‘I…’ they started.

‘This is not a test, Ufup,’ the Matriach smiled again, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening.

‘Yes,’ Leiko replied, too quickly. ‘I like it.’

‘Good,’ the Matriach dropped her hand from their shoulder.

Leiko exhaled, casting their gaze to the field around them. Underneath the afternoon sun, everything was brilliant and harsh. The grass was saturated by small blue flowers and piles of dirt from where others had planted seeds. Beyond the field were the mountains, gray and tipped with snow. They could see the copper spires of the Jedi Temple nestled between, almost too bright.

A soft wind came winding down from the mountains, brushing at Leiko’s skin. A sense of peace rushed over them, unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. Without realizing it, they’d begun to settle into this place. They loved the sky and the trees and the variety of colors found in every view. Years on Korriban had burned the color red into their mind, so much so that they had forgotten other shades existed.

‘I love it,’ they said, ‘It’s simple. I want to do this as long as I can.’

The Matriach’s smile spread into a grin. ‘You are welcome here in Kalikori as long as you wish to stay. Plant as many seeds as you like.’

Leiko’s smile paused halfway. The sun had drifted behind a cloud, softening the light around them.

Thump. Thump.

They could not spot the source of the sound, but at the far end of the field, a silhouette had appeared, wreathed in shadow, red blade sparking flames into the grass.

Panic seized Leiko and they grabbed the Matriach’s shoulders.

‘Run, you need to run!’ they cried.

The Matriach didn’t move, her brows knitting with confusion. As quickly as it came, the shadows left, the sun once again illuminating the field.

Leiko looked back up. The silhouette was gone.

‘Are you alright, Ufup?’

Leiko swallowed and stumbled away from the Matriach. ‘Y..Yes. Yes. I thought I saw something.’

The Matriach sniffed, unbothered. ‘I will see you at dinner. Keep your eyes and hands steady.’

She left without another word, surprisingly spry as she marched back down the hill.

Leiko took in a deep breath, stretching out their hands to stop the shaking. In the distance, a bird cried, its song echoing through the mountains.

A moment of peace was a luxury, a gift that they did not deserve. Still, the moment stretched and the wind kept on winding through the field. Best not to waste it.

Leiko rolled back their shoulders and continued to dig.

[randonauticrap]

Unwelcome Guests

Pairing ~ Leon Dompteur x Reader

Event ~ Cozytober

Prompt ~ Exploring a haunted place

Summary ~ Cozytober has a dark side! I hope you enjoy this mild thriller with Leon.

Ps., the photo in the header is my photography!

"What is this place, Leon?" You asked, a shiver running down your spine as a chilly wind swept its way beneath your clothes.

"This is one of the old water mills!" He replied cheerfully, his hands in his pockets as he showed you around. The mill itself was enclosed by four dilapidated walls, bowing inwards, bearing down menacingly on its unwelcome visitors. "It's been abandoned for awhile, obviously. We found better resources over the years, but this place was just left here for nature to reclaim." He seemed so at ease in his surroundings that you thought perhaps you were imagining the tense atmosphere, and decided to ignore your apprehension for the time being.

"Okay, it is pretty cool." You admitted as you neared the large wheel that had long since been forgotten.

"Haha!" Leon laughed triumphantly. "I knew you'd come around." You chuckled and playfully shoved his arm in return. He responded by snaking it around your waist and pulling you close to him. You felt a blush creep onto your cheeks and you nuzzled closer to him. You had finally let your guard down, when

BANG

A loud clanging demanded your attention and you both swiveled around to locate the source of the noise. You sensed Leon's body tense up beside you, and your adrenaline rose in response. The chill you had felt upon arrival had returned and was now dominating the air. It was a distinct cold; the kind that penetrated your skin and wrapped its icy fingers around your bones. You were unable to move; unable to speak. You saw nothing, but the presence of someone - or something - laced with anger was palpable. It drew in on the both of you, and suddenly you were painfully aware that you were the trespassers here. This was its territory, and you were not welcome.

You both stood there staring into the shadows, frozen, as if paralyzed, until a bucket from somewhere in the darkness was hurled at you. Leon leapt in front of you, taking the hit, as well as getting drenched by the bucket's contents.

"Leon, let's go!" You cried, and he nodded in response, unsheathing his sword before urging you outside and back towards the castle. It wasn't long before the two of you were safe within the castle walls once again, taking refuge in the kitchen and munching on a few tarts Yves had left out.

"So someone is living in there after all." You remarked after a few moments of uneasy silence.

"That's impossible." Leon muttered, staring down at his tart with a disconcerted look on his face.

"Why?"

"Because," Leon paused, looking up to meet your eyes. "I sent one of my men out there less than half an hour before we arrived to make sure it was safe. I would never put you in danger like that. My man told me that there were no signs of current squatters or occupation. The place was deserted."

The air hung heavy with Leon's admission, and the unsettled silence returned and fell over you both like a blanket, suffocating all the air from the room. At last, you parted your lips and asked the question that was in both of your heads; the question you were not truly sure you wanted the answer to:

"So, what was it?"

Several more seconds of silence passed before Leon gave his answer; the answer that did nothing to dispel the disquiet within you both.

"...I don't know."

.

.

.

Tags for the lovelies: @aquagirl1978 @violettduchess @ikehoe @rhodolitesroseforclavis

[cnu-newurbanism]

Movie Analysis: Goncharov and the 15-Minute City

The resurgence of Goncharov (1973) is an opportunity to explore European urbanism in the context of the film and the power of human-scale places.

Naples is often described as a gritty, chaotic and rough city that may feel unwelcoming to visitors. However, the saying “Rome is the heart of Italy, but Naples is its soul” is much more accurate. The city's grittiness lends itself well to the pulse-pounding action sequences in the film but the human-scale of the city also drives home the intimacy of the film's more tender moments.

The pictured piazza is part of one of the film's pivotal moments. How would this scene have been different when things aren't at human-scale?

The city may not be shiny and neat, but it is an ideal version of the type of 15-minute city many New Urbanists are trying to create in North America today. It obtains traces of qualities often sought in today’s development strategies: communality, social inclusion, a wealth of creative activity and a locally rooted economy.

The streets in Naples are lined with local services. There’s a mix of everything old and new: bars, Michelin-praised pizzerias, car repair shops, meat shops, designer shops, and whatnot. Many of these places feature prominently in the film. Can you imagine how some of these scenes would have been impacted if Goncharov and Andrey had to get in a car and find parking as they traverse the city?

The “15-minute city” may be defined as an ideal geography where most human needs and many desires are located within a travel distance of 15 minutes. 

Indeed, with all its “messiness”, Naples has managed to maintain many aspects of the self-organized, organic, urbanism that we’ve so often lost. The city is like a giant placemaking effort: incrementally built, maintained and continuously re-envisioned from the bottom up through the transactions and activities of a variety of local actors.

While not the focus of the film, the city of Naples is a great example of what the 15-minute city should and could be. By paying attention to the human-scale of the city, you can see how the design of cities shapes our daily lives.

Language and images sourced from: https://urbanfinland.com/2017/08/24/urban-lessons-from-naples-potenza-and-matera/

Learn more about the 15-minute city at: https://www.cnu.org/publicsquare/2021/02/08/defining-15-minute-city

[aminiatureworld]

Hunting the Wren

'Under sod gorse and furze/There lies a young wren/Oh, by the saints she was cursed'

An account of Annie Cresta's Hunger Games

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: Discussions of death; implied character death

Author's Note: Reread and rewatched the Hunger Games in May and proceeded to write 16k words of fic that week. And now I'm finally starting to post it, so I hope you all enjoy!

For notes see the ao3 version, link will be in reblog

Go dig my grave both wide and deep

Place a marble stone at my head and feet

And on my breast a snow white dove

To tell this world

That I died for love

I.

There is no quiet near the sea.

No silence, rather. There will always be the cawing of the gulls, the lap of the waves, the gentle hushing of reeds shifting against one another in the wind. But it is not loud. It is not overwhelming. It is calming. It is the quiet of nature, which blocks out the sound of the real world.

Annie buries her bare feet within the silky sand and sighs. Her skirt flaps at her calves, airy, compared to the slight burning sensation of her soles. Not a few hours ago she probably would not have been able to walk barefoot without guaranteeing sunburn. The breeze whips salt into her hair and on her lips. The gulls sings their songs which no one but the sailors can understand. When she takes in a deep breath she can almost taste the seaweed, the mussels, the fish.

Annie loves the sea, more than she loves most things. It’s a beautiful place after all. Beautiful and filled with life, as long as you know where to look for it that is. And she does, even if people think she doesn’t. She is of District 4 after all, and everyone of District 4 knows the sea better than the land. It’s a source of wealth, security, power. In a place where temperatures vary wildly – scalding hot in the summer and freezing cold in the winter – there is not a lot that can be counted on. But the sea always can be, for it never freezes over and its bounty never dies. Not like the fruit buds on a tree during a cold snap. Not like the meager crops in the field during a drought. It is dangerous to fish, but it also brings stability. Everyone knows something of the sea.

Now the sea looks like some threw gold into it, yellows and orange mixing with the blues. The sun is lazily sliding underneath the horizon, getting ready for when it must rise again, this time on the opposite side of the world. It is getting dark, too dark, but Annie doesn’t want to leave. Because tomorrow is the day. The day when the extra Peacekeepers come and the lady with the colorful wig and all the children line up and wait to see who will die. That awful day. The Reaping. Reaping children, uprooting them; cutting off their lifelines the way the farmer cuts the tops of wheatfields with his scythe. The scythe that hangs over them all, hangs over Annie. Always there. Even when she pretends it doesn’t.

But it’s almost over, almost. Eighteen. Almost there. Just one more time, just once more. She just needs to stand there one more day and then she can go home and sob her eyes out for the relief of it. Annie knows she should feel happy. Should be reaching desperately for the end of the dark, dark tunnel that has blocked out any peace she might have. Six years of terrible fear. Now it was almost over.

But Annie feels only dread. She can sense it, sense the unwelcome visitor. Death passes over them all, but for two people it stretches out its cold hands. Annie does not think of herself as made for death. But then again, none of the tributes probably think that.

And Death likes to chase those who are the most unsuspecting.

Finally the sea fades into a dark shadow, hiding itself until the new dawn finds it. Annie bids farewell to the sand, to the seagulls, to the bits and pieces of driftwood poking out here and there. It’s a good thing, to thank the sea. It feels impolite not to. Especially if you were never going to see it again. Then it might resent you forever for the lack of kindness.

In the wintertime if you were the last person to bed you were the one to blow the candles out. But it is no longer winter, and so the candles stay wrapped up in their beeswax paper, waiting for colder days to signal their work beginning.

Annie knows the house better than the rest of the family, knows which places tend to creak the most, where the floorboards are probably rotting a little bit. She picked it up from pacing. Pacing is very difficult when there is a constant rattling and creaking. She needs things to be absolutely quiet, so the only thing she can hear is her thoughts. Along with the sound of her socks padding lightly over the floorboards.

Stepping her way past a chair she scuttles into the children’s bedroom. The sight of all her brothers and sisters, piled up in clumps, makes her smile. There is something soothing about seeing them all sleeping peacefully. They always seem safer than they are, more content than their waking selves. She cannot judge them for their discontent. She certainly is rarely happy in her own waking hours. But in sleep, there is usually refuge.

She makes her way to her corner of the room, where all the grown up, or almost grown up, children sleep. There her brothers lie like carelessly piled up clothing, making as much space as possible out of the too-small beds. Annie lays down on her pillow and puts a ragged fold of blanket over her eyes and ears. It muffles the breathing around her, which is sometimes difficult to fall asleep to. Muffled, the sighs of the sleeping sound just like the sighs of the sea. For a moment she thinks about mermaids. Then her mind tumbles into the incoherency of half-dreams and she sleeps.

Annie would have liked to gone and see the sea one more time before the Reaping starts, but no one wakes her that morning. It’s a tradition within the Cresta family. Let the young ones sleep. Who knows, it may be the last time they are given peaceful sleep – or as close as they can get to one.

The eve of her first Reaping Annie did not remember sleeping. Oh yes, she must have slept. Theoretically she slept. But she did not remember sleeping. Only staring out at the darkness, terrified, sure that it would be her name pulled out of the lottery. She thought she would never be able to sleep before a Reaping. But six years dulls the sharpness of fear – though the fear itself remains. Now Annie sleeps because she must sleep. Because she is always tired. Because she is in desperate need of rest.

So by the time she wakes the light has cracked through the dusty curtains and the smell of food is wafting through the house. There are pancakes today, made with the high-quality flour that is so precious. District 4 is not rich in grain. Then again, who knows, no district probably is. Even District 9 surely sends it all to the Capitol. But you don’t say these things.

Taking care not to immediately shove the luxury into her mouth, Annie studies her family for a moment. Counts them. Sometimes it’s good to count them. Her two older brothers aren’t there, probably getting in some fishing before the Reaping. Today’s supposed to be a holiday, but really it just means getting behind in business. The tradesman doesn’t pay for late fish. She wonders how early her brothers got up. Perhaps they barely missed each other. She went to bed awfully late. Something that she’s now regretting.

The little ones’ plates are cleared, the crumbs appeared to have been licked off. But there is no light in their faces, for the Reaping casts a shadow over all but the youngest babies. No, that’s not quite true, Annie corrects herself. There are some who are excited for today, but those are the people with money and training. It pays to be a Career district, but only for the richest of the District 4 citizens. The ones who aren’t slaving away on their own little family boat, or on the boat of some other, bigger family. Even in the face of death, their District is never truly united. Again something you shouldn’t say.

All her thoughts start overwhelming Annie. She can feel the laughter beginning to bubble up inside of her. But it would do no good to laugh. It would be bad luck, and though Annie doesn’t really know whether she believes in bad luck sometimes, she wants to err on the edge of caution.

Besides, people don’t like when she laughs like that. She doesn’t like when she laughs like that. It’s never at the right time. And even if her family never admonishes her, she’s still feels their stares.

Soon enough the pancakes on her own plate are gone, though the crumbs remain there. Standing up Annie smiles nervously towards her mother, who offers a wan smile back. Almost there. Almost there. Just a few more hours and then she’ll be free. Only, there’s no guarantee. There never is any guarantee. There’s no point in pretending that you can see the future. There’s no point in telling yourself that the chance of being chosen is low. Someone has to be the tribute. Someone. Anne makes her way back to the children’s room to change.

There is no such thing as privacy in a small house with a great many children. As such there’s no point in calling out for help with buttoning up the back of her dress, she just waits until someone walks in. In the end it’s Paul who comes in first, unusually fidgety for the most staid of the family.

“Need help?”

“Yes please,” Annie replies.

She waits as Paul gets the top three buttons, then turns around. “Are Elijah and Lucien home?”

“Just got back. Now that they aren’t in the running anymore, there’s less of a reason to come back quickly. I don’t think Elijah will even change. He keeps forgetting to wear his hat on the water too, so if any of our family gets chosen the tv execs will have to put up with interviewing a lobster.”

Annie raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. Paul is only a year younger than her, a mere seventeen. He knows the stakes as well as she does. He also knows that only the final few get their families interviewed by the production that hosts the Games. That such a privilege was quite a long shot.

But she says none of this, because it would be bad luck, should one of them end up getting picked. And with five children in the running, there is no guarantee they will be spared. Should it be one of them, well, Annie very much hopes for an interview. Even if the idea of being interviewed was about as palatable as salmonella. But then again, perhaps she’ll be the one dying of hypothermia.

She shakes her head, as if to throw off the thoughts inside her head. Turning back to the matter at hand, she replies, “Elijah knows that you need to protect yourself in the sun, cancer is expensive.”

“He won’t get cancer.”

As if Paul has the power to predict such things. For a moment the idea of Elijah dying swirls in her head. Annie sighs. Saying nothing more to her brother she walks out of the room and towards the door.

District 4 is quite a large district, so greyish-blue buses cart everyone to the large square where the tributes are picked. Waiting in line, Annie catches glimpses here and there of her peers. Classmates, people who work with her father, who buy the nets she makes with her mother. A man and a woman who Annie worked for two summers ago are there, their son clutched tightly between them. He’s twelve, and learning to be a cook.

How funny, that children are expected to have career paths when everything might be cut off all of a sudden, with no one to save you from falling and hitting the ground.

She can never remember the name of the woman who comes and announces the tributes. Why should she? Somehow one person from the Capitol always seems so much less important than the two that are being stolen from them. Stolen. Offered. Slaughtered. Like that old story of a maze and a monster, the one that you weren’t supposed to be taught in classes. It got tossed around anyways, though no one could remember the name of it. Or how it ended. Probably in death.

The sun is hot in the sky, but not the nice, burning sensation of the beach. Instead it stagnates, dries everyone up. Everyone wants this to be over. And it seems the sun wants it to be over too. It makes sense, for surely the sun doesn’t want to see the unwilling sacrifice of two children any more than anyone in District 4 does.

Waiting’s the hardest part, but it seems like it will soon be over. The mayor – the term governor would probably be more accurate – has finished speaking, and is handing over the mic to the woman. Today she’s wearing a pink wig, salmon-like. For a moment Annie images a salmon on a pile of wool. Terrible. Only a truly awful restaurant would do that.

The woman is speaking, and even if you don’t want to listen, you have to. Or at least Annie has to. Her brain won’t let her do otherwise. She wishes it would, but it won’t, so you might as well listen. Already the familiar anxiety is flooding her, the panic that, when it gets bad enough, spots the corners of her vision black. She takes in a deep breath, closes her eyes. It won’t be her. It won’t. She needs to calm down.

Almost on reaction, she flips through the quotes that’s she’s memorized in her head. Poetry, music, the familiar lines that she hoards. There are a great many of them, and each so often repeated that they come almost reflexively. The craigs and dips of unfamiliar patterns have been smoothed away by time, and now they set like smooth marbles in her mind.

She reaches for one of them at random, finds it. “Dust thou art, to dust returnest, was not spoken of the soul.” She can’t remember where she read it, but it gives her comfort. This was all going to pass, pass as it did every year. Every year there is the same struggle. There’s the burning hot certainty that it will be her, followed by the flood of relief when it’s not. Her legs will wobble, but not give way. Her anxiety will be replaced with sorrow. She will stare up towards the tribute and feel anger. She will go home and cry over the evil of stealing two children away, to slaughter them at the pleasure of the Capitol. And it will all be over. And then she will be free.

“Ladies first!”

So close. Only a few more seconds. Only a few more and she will be free. The lady is walking towards the bowl. Annie sees it as if through a film reel. Almost there.

“Annie Cresta!”

For a moment the world is silent, fogged out. Like when you go under too quickly and the water swallows up the world. You have to surface and shake the water out of your ears as you take deep breaths. Only here, there is no air to breathe.

Annie stares bewildered up towards the woman in the pink wig. Then hysteria bubbles up inside her and she laughs. A desperate, crystal laugh in the silence that is her death.

[universe-on-her-shoulders]

A New Chapter, Chapter 37

As Clara recovers in hospital, she gets a boost from an unexpected source, and receives an unwelcome visitor...

Read it on AO3 here.

[fruitycasket]

My Best Friend

Summary: Anti stops by and tells Chase some alarming news. Poor guy just can't catch a break!

Word Count: 1,780

Notes: This is a sequel to a sequel (Still Here, Again, which is a sequel to Still Here). I can't make myself like this fic any more than a "meh decent-ish", I hope it brings ye more joy! Also, link to the Ao3 version!

Most days, Chase spends all his time staring out the window, focusing and unfocusing his eyes so he can watch the shimmering, iridescent field protecting the house fade in and out of existence. He tries not to think about what it's for, but it’s impossible, even while he’s busy hypnotizing himself to pass the time.

It was placed there to keep him out. Chase has never tried to leave—he can’t, considering his current condition—but he’s seen others come and go. Animals get in and out with no problems, too, so he’s never seen what happens to someone who’s unwelcome. It always leads to him wondering what would happen if…

Chase blinks and looks away from the window, rubbing his eyes with his palms. He shouldn't be thinking of him, so says Marvin, and he shouldn't even be calling him… him. It, they all say, It's not a person. He tries to think of anything else.

Brianna is the first thing that pops into his mind. Her jaw is like his, her hair is orange and straight like her grandma on her mom's side, and her eyes are a dark brown more intense than either of her parents'. He thinks of her canine teeth, the tiny indents of which are permanently scarred onto his skin from when she bit him as a toddler, and then her loud, sweet-as-honey laugh. When was the last time he heard it?

With only those details, the picture is blurry and her laugh is distorted. He only succeeds in making himself feel awful. He wants to be back home—not that Marvin's place isn't lovely or that his is all that nice. Really, it’s the fact that he can’t leave that has him so agitated. And that there are no visitors allowed, and that he’s stuck in a little room. Is this so different from where he was before?

It's almost worse here in a way. He can't even leave his room most of the time; the pain in his body where strings have been removed leaves him bedridden too often for his liking. He's been promised time and time again that it'll get better. James got better, Henrik is getting better much faster than Chase is, in fact, but Chase's body is taking its sweet time.

Today isn't any different.

Pain radiates out from his bones and from invisible stripes running along his arm and leg muscles. He’s been waiting all day for painkillers to arrive.

Chase's sole source of comfort comes from Henrik or Marvin checking on him, feeding him, helping him get to the bathroom and with anything else he might need. Still, Henrik gets winded too, and Marvin is flighty, always doing a million things around the home. If Chase is really lucky, the cat mask will slink inside, squeezing under the door with help from its six spidery legs and long segmented tail to say hi. He's not sure whether to find this nice or unnerving.

Chase pauses to run his fingers along the fresher scars on his skin.

But even with all that, there's no debate that this is better than where he was before. So much better.

And again, he's thinking of things he shouldn't.

Again he tries to focus on something else. He thinks about Stacy and her family, and then his own family he only distantly knows or cares about. Then he thinks of his work and his friends, of his apartment and the fridge with the busted light, his favorite bar, the dog with the scary eyes that watched him from behind a chain link fence on his route to work. The town comes to life in his mind. He imagines himself being there again, wandering the streets as if he's off work and has nothing better to do. First he leaves his apartment, then travels down the street to the liquor store, stops at the window and stares at himself.

The window is opaque black in color but still reflective. Chase is a sickly white. He looks awful, like he hasn’t slept in a year, and spent most of that sleepless year chained up in a tiger’s enclosure.

As he backs away from his reflection, someone taps on the window. Except it's not the imaginary bar window.

Chase startles out of his daydream and snaps his head towards the window of his room.

Tap-tap. Tap-tap. “Chase.”

The world stands still. “You can’t be here.”

Anti tilts his head and frowns. “Why?” his voice floats muffled through the glass and worms into Chase’s ear. A claw is running along the bottom edge of the window, searching for a lock to break. “I’ve been let in. The spell let me in, I can be here.”

But how is that possible? Chase’s heart all but stops. He can’t breathe, he can’t think.

“You don’t recognize me,” a somber note enters Anti’s voice and his eyes take on a strange hue, spots of blue pulsing in deep black, “It’s me, Jack, the spell recognized me.”

Chase shakes his head. “No,” he whispers.

The window lock breaks easily with a soft crack, its shiny metal viscera hangs limp as it’s lifted upward. Cold air blows into the room along with the smell of rust and iron.

Anti is on Chase’s bed in a second, limbs twisting and bending inhumanly as he crawls. An uncomfortably familiar weight settles across Chase’s lap and Anti brings his face close, eyes still filled with flickering shades of blue. “Don’t say that,” he whispers, “How am I here if I’m not?”

Chase can’t think of an answer. It can’t be… this can’t be his friend, there must have been some mistake in the spell, some way to exploit it and get it to open up.

If Anti hears these thoughts, he doesn’t care and remains preoccupied with how Chase looks. “Hold still.”

Instinct takes over and Chase bows his head, trying to look small. He lets his arms be pulled forward for scrutinizing. "I'm fine," he mutters, "They've been taking care of me." The prognosis is never good for thieves but he desperately hopes his comment will save everyone else from dismemberment or death.

"Hmm," Anti rumbles, "They have." He turns his attention to the door and slides off the bed.

"What is it?" Chase asks.

Footsteps draw close. The door handle twists. 

Chase thinks he might faint as Anti swings his feet over the edge of the bed and waits patiently.

The door opens wide.

Marvin stands behind it, haloed by the light of the hallway. His expression remains impassive as he and Anti lock eyes. Had he already known the monster had broken the barrier? Or is he just a good actor?

Chase sighs. Better Marvin than Jackie. Marvin is smart, he won't get himself killed.

A long silence hangs between them, as if the world has truly stopped this time.

"You've grown," Anti says, licking his lips.

"You've… changed," Marvin replies. Instead of making himself small, he lowers his chin and meets Anti's gaze without flinching. It's a skill, Chase knows. The monster's stare drags you underwater, squeezes your head from all sides harder and harder the longer you look. "I guess you aren't telling me how you got in."

Anti grins at the mention of his impossible entry. "You can prove it," he says, "You know who I am."

Marvin's eyes flicker warily towards Chase. "I know what you are.”

Anti grabs his arm, digging his claws in until blood seeps through his dirty white sweater. Marvin grits his teeth as he's dragged towards the bed but otherwise remains composed. "Tell him who I am," Anti hisses, "I am Jack."

Marvin stares at him for a long time. He begins slowly, "You aren't"—

Anti wrenches Marvin's arm back and he cries out.

Ignoring the weakness in his legs, Chase slides out of bed. "Don't hurt him!"

"If he doesn't lie I won't hurt him."

"I won't,” Marvin promises, “I’m not. You are Jack, but not exactly him, that’s all. That’s all.”

Anti lets go of him, satisfied.

"You can't know that for sure," Chase says, "You can't."

"We can see into his head, Chase," Marvin taps his mask, which rests silently on his face, legs and tail hidden, "It's him."

Saliva pools in Chase's mouth; he's about to vomit. "No."

Anti scowls. "You'll see, when I take you with me I'll show you."

Both Chase and Anti are surprised by Marvin stepping between them. "Wait," he says, "If I may, I want to offer you something. If you'll let your pet stay here…" Now he turns his eyes downward and bows his head.

Chase sits back down on the bed, his legs burn, his heart is beating too fast, pinpricks of pain stab him behind his eyes. A part of him wants to tell Marvin to stop, but another is just as interested in his offer as Anti seems to be. He doesn't want to go, he’ll take anything over going back. Almost. He chooses not to speak and concentrates on his disturbed stomach, determined not to throw up in front of either party.

"You're willing to do that?" Anti smiles at Marvin, "And here I thought you'd cleaned out that basement for Jackie."

What? Chase thinks, What did he just agree to? How did I miss it?

"It wouldn't be the first time I've made sacrifices, but I won't take someone off the street for you."

"I figured, just don’t come crying to me when the deal ends. And, anyway… if I want to see my pet while our deal is on?"

Marvin looks back at Chase.

Chase answers for him. "Just don't let anyone see you."

Anti, or Jack—the realization is just now starting to sink in—grins wide. "I like you two," he says, "Of course, I should check that you can give me what you promised." He disappears through the door, then down through the floor as if there's an invisible staircase going straight to the basement.

Chase slides off his bed and pulls his trashcan close. His stomach won't settle, not after this news. What deal had Marvin made? What was in the basement Anti would want so bad? How could that be Jack? He licks his lips as he hangs his head over the rim of the can. "Marvin," he whispers, "when you said that was Jack, were you just…"

Marvin kneels next to him. "No, I wasn't lying, he would have known," he says.

Chase throws up.

Marvin holds back his hair and rubs his back. "Chase, nobody but us can know about this."

“I know,” Chase nods weakly, “I know.”

[just-roaches-things]

How does a roach enters my house? and why does it?

Roaches, also known as cockroaches, are unwelcome visitors in any household. These resilient insects have been around for millions of years, adapting and surviving in various environments. Despite our best efforts to keep them out, they always seem to find a way in. In this article, we will delve into the fascinating world of roach entry and explore the reasons behind their seemingly unyielding determination to invade our homes.

1. Understanding Roach Behavior

Roaches are highly adaptable creatures with incredible survival instincts. They are attracted to environments that offer them sustenance, water, and shelter. Understanding their behavior is crucial to implementing effective pest control measures.

1.1 Nocturnal Nature

Roaches are predominantly nocturnal, preferring to operate under the cover of darkness. This behavior aids their quest to enter homes unnoticed, as they seek food and water sources while humans sleep.

1.2 Seeking Food Sources

One primary reason roaches enter our houses is the abundance of accessible food. They are scavengers and can feed on almost anything, including crumbs, leftovers, and even pet food. A poorly stored or unsealed food source becomes an open invitation for these pests.

2. How Do Roaches Enter My House?

Despite our best efforts to maintain a clean environment, roaches can find several entry points into our homes. Identifying these entryways can help us seal them off and prevent future infestations.

2.1 Cracks and Crevices

Roaches are skilled at squeezing through tiny openings. Small cracks in walls, windows, doors, and foundations offer easy access points for them. Seal off these gaps to minimize their chances of entering.

2.2 Drain Pipes and Vents

Drain pipes and ventilation systems provide roaches with a direct path into your house. These pests can crawl up through pipes, making their way into sinks, showers, and even toilets.

2.3 Hitchhiking

Roaches can unintentionally enter your home by hitchhiking on items you bring indoors. They may hide in grocery bags, cardboard boxes, or second-hand furniture, making it essential to inspect and clean such items thoroughly.

3. Why Do Roaches Choose My House?

Understanding the factors that attract roaches to your home can help you address these issues and make your living space less appealing to these unwanted guests.

3.1 Warm and Humid Environment

Roaches prefer warm and humid environments. If your house provides these conditions, it becomes an attractive habitat for them. Proper ventilation and dehumidifiers can help reduce their appeal.

3.2 Availability of Water

Water sources are vital for roach survival. Leaky pipes, dripping faucets, and standing water create a welcoming environment. Fixing leaks and ensuring dryness can deter roaches from staying.

3.3 Clutter and Untidiness

A cluttered and messy house offers roaches ample hiding spots and easy access to food. Regular cleaning and decluttering disrupt their habitat, making it less enticing for them to settle in.

Conclusion

In conclusion, roaches enter our houses driven by their need for food, water, and shelter. Their ability to exploit small openings and their nocturnal behavior make them elusive and challenging to control. By understanding their behavior and identifying their entry points, we can implement effective pest management strategies to keep our homes roach-free.

Creating an inhospitable environment by eliminating food sources, sealing cracks, and maintaining cleanliness can go a long way in deterring these unwanted guests. Remember, early prevention is key to avoiding infestations and ensuring a peaceful coexistence without roaches

Thanks for reading!

You can find the italian version of this blogpost, at the link below ↓

[way-pest]

Pest Control Services in Dubai: Safeguarding Homes and Businesses

Dubai, which is well-known for its beautiful architecture, exciting way of life, and growing economy, is also home to a number of pests that may do major damage to homes and other buildings. These unwelcome visitors, which can range from common pests like cockroaches and rats to more elusive invaders like termites and bed bugs, pose serious risks to health, hygiene, and property. To address this problem, Dubai provides a variety of expert pest control services that use cutting-edge technology and environmentally friendly practices to get rid of and prevent pest infestations. The significance of pest control services in Dubai is examined in this article, which also identifies the major advantages they provide to locals and businesses.

1.Challenges with pest control in Dubai: Due to Dubai's unusual climate, which is marked by scorching summers and moderate winters, pests can thrive there. The city's brisk foreign trade and rising urbanization are additional factors that raise the danger of insect infestations. Cockroaches, ants, flies, rodents, termites, bed bugs, and mosquitoes are common pests in Dubai. These pests can harm buildings and other property structurally in addition to posing health problems.

2.Professional Pest Control Services: Professional pest control services are necessary for businesses and homes of Dubai to successfully address and prevent pest infestations. These services are offered by certified and qualified technicians with in-depth knowledge of the species and behavior of local pests. They use a number of techniques that are suited to the particular pest issue, assuring effective eradication with a minimum use of hazardous chemicals.

A widely used strategy called integrated pest management (IPM) concentrates on long-term pest control using a mix of preventive measures, routine inspections, and tailored treatments. IPM strategies include removing food sources, blocking entryways, and putting in place efficient sanitation procedures in an effort to treat the fundamental causes of infestations.

3.Professional pest control has a number of benefits, including the following:

a) Health and Hygiene: Pests can carry harmful infections and diseases that put people's health at danger. In order to get rid of pests, professional pest control services in Dubai use procedures that are both safe and efficient. This lowers the risk of disease transmission and promotes a healthy living environment.

b) Structural Integrity: Pests like termites and rodents can seriously harm furniture, other structures, and buildings. Professionals in pest control can save expensive repairs and protect the structural integrity of buildings by acting quickly.

c) Tailored Solutions: Professional pest control businesses are aware that every infestation is different and need a customized strategy. They carry out in-depth inspections to determine the scope of the issue and create a specialized treatment strategy that successfully targets the particular pest species involved.

d) Long-Term Prevention: Pest control services emphasize long-term prevention in addition to the elimination of current infestations. Long-term pest control is facilitated by routine inspections, proactive interventions, and education on preventive practices

e) ecologically sustainable Methods: Many pest control businesses in Dubai give top priority to ecologically sustainable techniques. They use non-toxic or low-toxicity remedies to protect people and their pets from harm and lessen their influence on the environment.

f) Time and Cost Effectiveness: Trying to deal with insect infestations on your own can result in a waste of time and money. Professional pest control services in Dubai provide effective and affordable solutions, saving locals and companies a significant amount of time and money.

Professional pest control services are essential for protecting homes and businesses in Dubai, where pests can pose serious risks to health, hygiene, and property. These services efficiently get rid of pests, reduce health concerns, and safeguard the structural integrity of buildings thanks to their knowledge, cutting-edge methods, and environmentally friendly methods. Residents and companies in Dubai may provide a secure, pest-free environment for their families, staff members, and clients by investing in professional pest management..